Non Compos Mentis
by KeepingFilmAlive
Summary: John comes across a patient that pushes him to research the behavioral patterns associated with autism and Sociopathy. When Sherlock finds out, John can't help but get suspicious at his reaction. Johnlock fluff.


Title: Non Compos Mentis

Pairing: Sherlock and John

Fandom: Sherlock BBC

Rating: M (for mentions of a wank)

Please review!

:

Today in the surgery, John met Brayden. Brayden is a twenty-two year old, bright young man with autism. He furiously denies being autistic and says "If anything, it's a mild case of ADHD or some rubbish." His mother says otherwise. After finding many similar behavioral patterns between Brayden and Sherlock, John couldn't help but wonder. So it was decided as Brayden and his mother walked out of the room that John was going to do a little research project while Sherlock was busy on his new case tomorrow.

:

The internet was a wonderful thing, but for John's current research project, he was going to need more than the world wide web. He pulled books from the library, called psychologists and neurologists, contacted an old friend with an autistic sister and made a list of typical behaviors in both cases when he'd decided he'd heard enough. John pulled both hands over his face after closing his lap top and setting it on the coffee table. He had glanced at the clock on the screen before closing it, 21:53 and Sherlock still wasn't back. He hadn't texted Sherlock since their last conversation. He wasn't concerned though, if Sherlock was in trouble he'd find a way out or find a way to contact his loyal pet to fetch him.

John figured he'd had a long week anyhow and decided to take a hot shower and clock in early. The kitchen light was left on and the fire was put out, leaving the sitting room dark but still somewhat lit by the kitchen, and the door was left locked in case Sherlock wasn't coming home tonight. The shower was longer than usual for once, he'd decided that since his ever-so-nosey flatmate wasn't home, he could manage to have a wank without the idiot commenting on his sex life when he exited the bathroom. Feeling quite refreshed, the doctor made his way to his room in his pyjama bottoms alone and settled down for the night.

:

It was about three in the morning when his door opened abruptly and was shortly followed by lights turning on, which stung his eyes considerably.

"Christ-" John shot his arm over his eyes to shade them from the light and glared at the man standing next to his bed, his body language and face reading nothing but brimming anger.

"I," Sherlock started slowly, his voice low and dangerous, "am not... Autistic." John rolled his eyes remembering that he hadn't shut off his laptop before going to bed.

"Right, wonderful, thank you for sharing. Now if you'll excuse me, I was sleeping." John rolled over and readjusted the duvet around his body.

"John."

"Go away, Sherlock, I'm tired." Sherlock pulled the pillow out from under John's head and gave the doctor a good 'fwap' with it. "Sherlock, what is your pr-"

"I'm. Not. Autistic. _Do_ you understand me?" John wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not but he didn't like what he was seeing because Sherlock was giving him the nastiest glare he'd ever seen on the man and he'd seen quite a few in his day. Clearly, ignorantly brushing him off wasn't going to make him go away, so John sighed and attempted to remain calm.

"I understand Sherlock, but I never said you were Autistic, so I'm not exactly sure why you're acting this way."

"You were researching Autism and Sociopathy, John, you of all people know I am the furthest thing from an idiot. I don't know what prompted you to start this little project but don't you ever even think about considering me to be autistic or you can go and find yourself a new flatmate. This is your only warning." Okay, now John was curious, slightly offended, but curious none the less.

"A, I was researching Autism and Sociopathy because of a patient I had today, not you, and B, why are you getting so worked up over this? This isn't like you Sherlock, you're acting like, hell, I don't know, like I destroyed the Irene's phone or something, and quite frankly, you're acting ridiculous. Much more so than usual." Sherlock bent at the waist and brought his hands up in frustration.

"You made a_ list_, John! You were comparing behavioral patterns between subjects with_ Autism_ and _Antisocial Personality Disorder_! What other reason would you have to do that? Was your patient Autistic and claiming to be a high functioning Sociopath as well? Unlikely, John, I find that so _highly_ unlikely!" John squinted and shook his head slightly out of confusion.

"I'm sorry, '_as well_'?" Sherlock pulled back slightly and clamped his jaw shut. "Listen, Sherlock, I don't know why you're so against the idea that you might be even slightly Autistic, it's not like it's going to change who you are, but you saw the list and you know the symptoms well enough on your own. Now, you're a logical, factual man, Sherlock, can you honestly stand there and tell me that you don't have a doubt in your head that you might be just a little Autistic? Because you know as well as I do that there's no such thing as a high functioning Sociopath." Sherlock straightened completely, his expression retracting back into it's usual uninterested gaze.

"Yes. Yes I can tell you that because if you'd use a single bloody cell in that pathetic brain of yours you'd know that it's the damn truth and we wouldn't be having this conversation and you wouldn't be sleeping at someone else's house tonight. Get out. I don't want to see you again until Tuesday." John blinked and opened his mouth to respond but was cut off before he could make a sound. "Out. John. Now. I don't care where you go, just leave."

:

'John, it's three twenty-four in the morning, this better be important.'

"Shut up and send a damn car. We need to talk."

'Talk? That's it? Right now?'

"I'm sorry, did I stutter? Shall I repeat myself?"

'Goodness, don't get your pants all up in a knot. The car will be on it's way in a moment.'

:

John ignored the fact that the driver was in his pyjamas as well, to be honest he really didn't care about much at all right now. He hasn't felt his face this hot from anger in a long time, probably since Sherlock had returned from the grave over a year ago. John stepped out of the car in his jammies and tossed a duffle bag at Mycroft's fuzzy slipper covered feet, crossing his arms over his chest expectantly.

"Maybe you can explain to me why your brother, my best friend whom I'd literally do anything for, the idiot who played dead for three years to keep me safe, suddenly decides over a row about him possibly being Autistic that he doesn't want to see me again until Tuesday and kicks me out of my own home. Could you maybe elaborate on that? Because he was pissed to hell and back just because I had done some research on Autism and Antisocial Personality Disorder, and you and I both know that's not a good thing." The moment "Autistic" left John's mouth, Mycroft's jaw had clenched and his hands balled up into fists in his pockets. After a moment of avoiding all eye contact, Mycroft cleared his throat and looked up at John.

"Yes, well, that would be my fault." John had already figured as much but hearing the words come from his mouth reassured him that he hated the other Holmes brother with a never dying passion. "You already know of the complicated relationship between Sherlock and I, but what I'm sure you don't know is that as a child, growing up, I was an even worse of a prat. Though, for about sixteen months somewhere in my teenhood I came to the conclusion that I absolutely, beyond a doubt despised my younger brother with every fiber of my being. It was in that time that I had lived through a particularly nasty phase... I wanted to make Sherlock feel as awful as I could make him feel, I was determined to make him cry as much as possible and that is exactly what I did. You'll never see him shed a tear now, but back then, when he was younger, I made him cry just about every other day, if not every day. See, the thing I used to make him cry was emphasizing that there was something wrong with him in the head, and not in the typical way that everyone else had. I often left notes With symptoms of Autism and examples of his behavior that related to the symptom written. I would remind him constantly that he would never amount to anything due to the disability, and often when he cried I wouldn't just let him be. I'd taunt him and say the cruelest things while he cried because it honestly made me feel better at the time. I knew he was becoming quite the little genius and I'll never admit it to him, but I know he's smarter than I ever will be. That's why I hated him so much, I was jealous. But I have since apologized sincerely to him, believe it or not, I do feel guilt and when I think back to those times I feel like a complete monster, I do. I'm not proud of those sixteen months, one of the few things in my life I truly wish I could go back and fix. So Autism is a bit of a touchy subject with him and if you wish to continue your life with him, I suggest never bringing it up again. Drop it, apologize, and move on. He will push you away if you continue to bring it up and he will, no matter how much he cares about you, leave you and move on with his life."

John's arms had fallen to his sides by this point. His gaze cool and unreadable. He shifted his weight to one leg and licked his lips.

"That so?"

:

Sherlock walked into 221B and hung his coat and scarf on the hooks before trotting up the stairs and turning into the sitting room, only to pause unexpectedly. John sat in his usual spot waiting silently, Sherlock noted right away the swollen knuckles. He contemplated holding back the smirk that was warning to come through but decided against it and smirked anyway.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry, look, can we just talk? Not about... that... I just-" Sherlock walked up silently and took John's swollen hand into his own.

"Must have hit him fairly hard for that kind of swelling." John smiled and looked away.

"No, I just hit him more than once. Deserved it though." The doctor stood on his feet and made his way towards the kitchen. "You know, I don't know how you can put something like that behind you and not still hold a grudge. He said you forgave him but even if you did, sorry, I can't. He has no right to call you his brother, he's a monster. And he won't be making any unexpected visits for a long while, I told him I don't want him coming around anytime soon because I would be prompted to hit him again." Sherlock followed John into the kitchen and leaned against the door frame, keeping his eyes on John who busied himself with making tea. Silence fell between them both for several moments before Sherlock finally sighed.

"You really do love me, don't you?" John didn't flinch at the question. Tea was more important at the moment.

"See, I knew you'd figure it out sooner or later, I was just hoping more later than sooner. Figured you were totally blind to Molly's feelings, why would I be the exception? Listen, Sherlock, you're my best friend and you know I'd give my life for you. I like what we have, I more than like it, I can't imagine going back to my old life now that you've come in and shaken it up so much. I don't want to lose you or scare you off and... and that's why I'm okay with ignoring what I feel as long as I still have you by my side because I can't possibly go back to life without you. I need you, Sherlock. And I like to think that you need me. So, if it's not much trouble, forget you ever deduced that and... and I don't know." John's voice wavered, his body deflated, and the kitchen had never felt so small before.

By this point, though,Sherlock was making his way over to the freezer and grabbing a pack of frozen corn. He scrunched it around in his hands to loosen the frozen chunks and walked back up to John, slipping his hand into John's unswollen hand. John snapped his head in the taller man's direction and gave him a confused look which was answered with a head jerk in the direction of the sitting room. Sherlock led the doctor to the couch and sat down, placing a pillow on his lap and patting on it. After a few moments of awkward glancing around, John was yanked down and positioned so he was laying on the couch with his head resting in Sherlock's lap. Sherlock pulled John's swollen hand to rest on his belly and placed the bag of frozen corn on it. John gazed intently at the stained ceiling and glanced sideways at the consulting detective when long, slender fingers began gently raking through his hair.

"Sher-"

"Be quiet John. Go to sleep, you look exhausted." Silence feel between the two again. The soothing touches pulled John into a sleepy spell and eventually, he closed his eyes. After a few moments though, with his eyes still closed, he couldn't hold it back anymore and spoke up again.

"So, are we okay?"

"We're more than okay."

"Right."

"Stop talking."

"Hm."

:

Lestrade had walked into the sitting room abruptly to talk to Sherlock since he wasn't answering his calls or texts. Truth be told, he was getting a little pissy at Sherlock ignoring his calls, but the sight before him immediately left a smile on his face as he turned and left. He decided he could manage without Sherlock for a while after all.

"'Bout time, you two."

Sherlock had managed to twist himself so he was lying on the couch beneath John who lay face down, half on Sherlock's body. John's face squished adorably against Sherlock's belly and Sherlock's hands rested loosely on John's head and back.


End file.
